On the Fringe of the Great Fight

Transcriber's Note:
Inconsistent hyphenation, and unusual and inconsistent spelling in the original document has been preserved. There are many punctuation confusions and errors in this book.



In Flanders fields the poppies grow, Between the crosses, row on row, That mark our place, and in the sky The larks still bravely singing fly, Scarce heard amid the guns below.
We are the dead, short days ago We lived, felt dawn, saw sunsets glow, Loved and were loved, and now we lie In Flanders fields.
Take up our quarrel with the foe. To you from failing hands we throw The torch: be yours to hold it high. If ye break faith with us who die We shall not sleep, though poppies blow In Flanders fields.
John MacCrae, (Lt.-Col.)
By permission of the author.